


The Hendersons

by marnies



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Gen, Loneliness, Recovery, Steve just needs love, Wholesome Friendship, ehfgsdkyfgaki, my son - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-02-11 07:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12930876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marnies/pseuds/marnies
Summary: "Are you okay?"





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, I don't know what this is. I really just liked the idea of Steve having a wholesome dinnertime with Dustin and his mom. It sort of grew like a tumor. I should be writing an essay right now.

.I.

   “No.”

   “What do you mean, ‘no?’”

   The car door with it’s handle wrapped in Steve’s fist slammed shut with a satisfying  _ clunk.  _ The vehicle rocked a bit from side to side at the force of his action, disgraced. About a week ago, it would have taken the blow with ease; a fine ride for a jobless eighteen-year-old. Apparently, something about being driven by a preschooler who’d never touched a wheel outside of an arcade would do certain things to a car. Now something in the bottom of the frame was all bent, putting it at an imbalance that showed whenever he got in or out, or, as exemplified, shut the door.

   “Henderson, you’re almost out of eighth grade.” He waited for Dustin to slam shut the passenger’s door with a  _ clunk  _ (and unsightly wobble) of its own before he locked up. “I’m pretty sure knowledge of basic vocabulary like ‘no’ is a high school requirement.”

   “Someone needs to give you smart-ass lessons.”

   “Shut up.”

   “Hey, there’s no shame in needing a tutor; you taught me that. I can ask Mike--”

   “Hey losers!”

   Both heads whipped around at uncomfortable speeds, Dustin’s hair flopping in such a way that he had to blow it out of his eyes, and Steve’s brain flopping in such a way that made him regret getting pummeled six days ago. Ouch.

   Max and Lucas bounded towards them from the Wheelers’ estate. As always, Max’s hair flowed wildly around her shoulders, and Lucas’s eyes barely left her. The kids had their weekly Dungeons and Dragons session today, and apparently Max was learning how to play. Steve, of course, learned nothing of the sort; they’d dragged him into creating a character a few days ago, and given up around the time he started asking why he couldn’t “just choose the numbers at random.” So, here he was, dropping Dustin off so the kids could play without him. He just needed to step inside for one thing…

   “Hey Steve. What’re you doing here?” Lucas gave him an odd look.

   Yeah, I thought you said you weren’t our chauffeur.” Max threw her arm around Lucas without warning. Almost immediately, the kid’s face morphed into a dopey grin, like he still couldn’t believe it was happening. After all, they’d only been dating for six and a half days. (Not that Steve had been keeping track or anything).

   “Didn’t have anything going on this weekend.” He ruffled Dustin’s hair casually. “Dustin’s not going to get used to it, is he?” 

   “Steve hates lasagna!” Dustin accused, slapping his arm away.

   “Hey--whoa, I never said that!”

   “Steve, you don’t like lasagna?” Lucas and Max appeared equally disgusted with him.

   “Jesus Christ, Henderson,” he said, “ just because I don’t want to waste my Sunday night making small talk with your mom doesn’t mean you can insult my taste buds like that.”

   “Why, you going to church?”

   Steve almost stuck his tongue out at him.

   “Who’s going to church?”

   He didn’t.

   A chorus of “hi Nancy”s managed to conquer the heavy silence that would have settled. Since their not-quite-breakup, he’d been actively avoiding conversation with her, which was exactly the reason he rarely risked visiting the Wheeler household. Of course he had a good reason today, but it didn’t hurt any less.

   Steve slipped towards the door before she could say “hi.”

   “Guess we can’t stand out here forever,” one of the kids said. 

   Steve thought the reason it hurt him so much was because it didn’t hurt her. Nancy was doing fine if not better, and he could barely function. The truth was, he missed her. He missed the murmurous tone of her voice when they’d study late at night, and he missed her comely figure and the rosy little peak of her nose. She was hair and hips and hell wrapped in an ugly Christmas sweater. But she'd had poison in her eyes and thorns on her tongue when she’d squeezed his heart to death with her tiny, drunken fist.

   Nancy didn’t need Steve, and Steve thought maybe he needed Nancy more than he should.

   Inside was much warmer than out, and the kitchen was much warmer than the hallway, he found, when the kids slipped into the basement and Nancy into somewhere he didn’t care to acknowledge. Mrs. Wheeler was baking obsessively, as was (what he found to be) the usual. She plastered on a smile, and for a moment Steve was frozen--her sculpted hair, matching jewelry, and meticulously manicured nails--she looked just like Steve’s own mother.

   “Hi, Steve.” Her smile faltered. He realized he was staring. “Something you need?”

   “Uh, yeah…” Even though the kids were happily screaming at each other downstairs, he couldn’t help but sneak a glance over his shoulder. “Do you happen to have that recipe from a while back?”

   “For the shepherd's pie? I sure do.”

   And suddenly she was Karen again, not Mrs. Harrington. Steve grinned.

   If he was going to spend his weekend without friends or girlfriends or any qualities to redeem a lack of company, at least he was going to have a pretty kickass dinner.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry this took so long and isn't super great. This whole thing was meant to be something I projectile vomited out and never revisited, but then I had school and needed to split it into multiple chapters, and then I wasn't as inspired... This whole chapter is totally aimless, self-indulgent, and literally, nothing happens, so you can skip it if you want. It's kind of just to establish the dynamic I guess. Maybe one of these days I'll write something of substance. Anyway, sorry if it's hard to read. I really like commas.

.II.

   Steve made shepherd’s pie. He sat down and ate it on his own, and then he went to bed without doing any homework at 3:41 in the morning. He opted to let Dustin ride to school himself that morning instead of hitching a ride, not out of spite, but more so the kid wouldn’t grow on him any more than he already had--as if it wasn’t futile. Dustin had grown on him like a tumor from the second the entitled little prick had jumped in his car a week ago and announced they were leaving (not that Steve would admit it). Apparently, he’d grown on the kid too, once he’d found that he wasn’t just a loser with a bat and a broken heart, and actually had gumption. Dustin was pretty resourceful too, and (again, none of this Steve would admit) actually had helped keep Steve on his feet once the gate had closed and his adrenaline had faded. The whole thing was a blur at this point, but Steve definitely recalled a flurry of curly hair and ridiculous goggles under his arm, between him and the dirt.     
   “Are you okay?” Dustin had asked.  
   And hadn’t that been the funniest thing Steve had heard all night? He’d barely known what “okay” meant anymore. Alive? He’d supposed he was. Closer to death than he had been yesterday, but technically not there yet. Emotionally stable? Again, a hell of a lot less than he’d been before. In fact, a hell of a lot less than he’d been when he’d first knocked on the Byers’ door and found Nancy and Jonathan with that thing climbing through the wall in a disgusting entrance from what should have been outside the Byers’ house but wasn’t. Okay to drive? Definitely not. In fact, more than definitely not. His head had throbbed and ribs ached, one of those demo-shits had ripped a hole in his calf, and now that adrenaline had seeped out, his whole body had seemed suspiciously into the idea of passing out. From where Steve stood, it had looked like he was dead no matter what.  
   So, why not get dead taking care of those shitheads?  
Steve had driven the kids back to the Byers’ house and had found it empty save for the massive amounts of paper and garbage that were strewn across the floor. He vaguely remembered trying to help clean before small hands had guided him to the couch and he’d stayed there, unable to protest. At some point, Nancy and the Byers’ had come home, and shortly after, so had Hopper and the other kid--Eleven? Jane? 

   He didn’t remember much, save that he had woken up the next morning on the couch with a properly bandaged face and six dipshits snoring on the floor beyond him. Max had positioned herself in such a way that she was almost hugging his right arm hanging off the sofa. It had been quiet. Somehow, despite everything, he had fallen back asleep comfortably.

   “--Mr. Harrington? I trust you’re taking notes.”

   Mrs. Brennan was leaning over his desk with a deep scowl. He realized he’d been drifting off. He cleared his throat.

   “Yes, absolutely.”

   “You can repeat what I just said, then?”

   “Um…” A kid in the back snickered, to whom Steve would not give the dignity of a backward glance. 

   “Hmm.” She made a point of pushing her glasses up on her face; a pompous gesture, and less than flattering, especially when the force of her action scraped up a bit of foundation that had caked on her nose. “I’m sure you’ll all see the benefits of paying good attention when you’re handed your tests on Friday… That’s two days from now.”

   Fantastic. It already posed a challenge to focus through the fading effects of his Hopper-diagnosed “damn nasty concussion,” and there was genuinely no way in hell he would get his shit together fast enough to even know what was going on. What class was this, even? It was the middle of his senior year, and Steve had a pile of Fs that predominated any past one of his years of antics; why not shoot for one more?

   He floated through the school day uncaringly, except for Phys. Ed, which he actually skipped. It just wasn’t a day he could handle seeing Billy Hargrove. Since Max had threatened to demolish his nuts with a bat, (Yikes; Steve had only heard that from Lucas later, who had put it so eloquently he actually had to throw up into the trash bin Dustin had thoughtfully provided.) Billy had left well enough alone, but playing ball it was impossible to avoid a quarrel. Even after the threat, Billy was set on pushing his luck. So far he had taken full advantage of Steve’s tender nose and occasional dizziness. He still hadn’t said a word to him (at least there was that).

   By the eighth period, he daydreamed of sleep with regret; it would be easier if he didn’t need to keep himself busy all the time, (afraid of the dreams, but afraid still of the oppressive darkness and every little noise when he lay in bed unblinking) blasting shitty music or TV in that empty, quiet house. It didn't help that both his parents were out on business trips, and had been  since Steve’s night of trauma… Well, at least his mom was on business. Steve was pretty sure he knew what his dad was doing in Costa Rica with his “business partner,” Jolene.

   Steve got home, dimmed the lights, turned on the TV and slept.

(-.III.-)

   Dustin wasn’t sure why or how he became so attached to Steve. Maybe it had something to do with his lack of a paternal figure or role model throughout childhood, and psychological issues surrounding that; maybe it had to do with Steve saving his goddamn life or something. Probably the latter. Definitely the latter. Either way he was disappointed (and slightly late for school) when the familiar red car didn’t appear in its usual place on this crisp, bucolic morning. Not too long ago Dustin wouldn’t have given Steve Harrington a second thought, but now they had shared trauma--they all did. The Party, the Byers, Chief Hopper, Nancy, and Steve were a family now, whether they all realized it or not. Steve, out of them all, seemed least convinced he was part of something, and that was exactly why Dustin set on inviting him to dinner. He decided to bring it up with Mike, Lucas, and Max between classes.

   “Do you guys think Steve was acting weird yesterday?”

   “Steve is weird,” said Max.

   “Who gives a shit?” Mike said.

   Lucas was quiet. He’d had a sort of shy gratitude towards Steve, Dustin had noticed, ever since he’d stood up to Billy. He wouldn’t want to look uncool in front of Max, though, and Dustin wasn’t about to push it.

   He forgot about Steve and buzzed through the rest of his classes, excited to visit the arcade after school. So what if they’d all just watch Max win every game? He actually had some cash this time, and maybe he’d learn a thing or two. 

   Still, though, he held out the invitation with obstinacy, in hope that the kid might come around. Who knew--maybe Steve could teach him a little more about girls. God knew he needed the help.

   Not that he would ever admit it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, a pointless chapter, but at least it's something. Hey, check out [my tumblr](https://glitterymayoarts.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been awhile.

-.III.-

(-.I.-)

 

   “Dusty! Time to get up!”

   “ _Shit._ ” Dustin flipped onto his back as quickly as he could, ripping the blanket off. “I’m up--”

   He wasn’t fast enough. Fifteen pounds of cat plopped onto his ribcage without warning, stealing the breath from his lungs. He imagined this was what it felt like to be pinned down by a demo-dog. Suffocating with claws in your chest, corpse-breath forced into your lungs…

   “Watch it, Dusty! You almost hit Tews with that blanket.” His mother lifted Tews off his chest, allowing Dustin huge gulps of not-quite-as-cat-smelling air. “Geez Louise, someone’s up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” Dustin decided not to remind her that the side of the bed he woke up on literally could have suffocated him. “Better get dressed, or you’re gonna miss your ride.”

   “Not exactly sure if my ride is coming today, Mom.” Dustin sat up and gave Tews a pat on the way past his mother.

   “Oh, honey, I’m sure he was just running late yesterday. Maybe he slept in. Speaking of which--”

   “Yeah, I know!”

   Dustin threw on some clothes, grabbed his backpack, gave his mom a peck on the cheek and ran outside. Maybe she was right, and he would be there. He allowed his hopes to rise just a tiny bit before they plummeted, the same empty suburb street greeting them outside the door. He lingered for a moment. Cold air bit his cheeks. Maybe Steve was avoiding him.

   Dustin begrudgingly dragged his bike out of the garage and walked it to the end of the driveway. He’d begun to set off when the honk of a stealthy car sounded behind him. He nearly fell off the bike.

   “Hey loser,” a familiar voice called. “Need a ride?”

   “Steve!”

   Forgetting his bike on a dead patch of grass by the sidewalk, Dustin stumbled to where Steve was stopped alongside the curb. He didn’t try to stop himself from grinning wildly. Not only was he stupidly glad Steve didn’t hate him, (though that fear would never stop him from being as obnoxious as possible) but it was fucking _freezing._ Despite his mother’s best intentions to make him bundle up, Dustin’s baseball cap and fleece were no match for the single-digit temperatures, nor were they for the frosty wind that stabbed his face. He threw the passenger’s door open.

   “Aren’t you going to get your bike?”

   He threw the passenger’s door closed and ran to put away his bike.

   As soon as Dustin returned, and stuffed himself into the warm car, they were off. Steve drove just a little bit over the speed limit, but not enough to constitute Dustin calling him out on it, so he just kept his mouth shut and tried to stare at anything but Steve. It didn’t work as well as he hoped. His chauffeur's face was still painted blue, purple, red, and all sorts of colors Dustin would have far preferred to see in an art museum than on someone’s face. He still couldn’t shake the feeling that it was somehow his fault; maybe if he’d found some other help that day, or gone on his own, or even left him at the Byers’, Steve could have carried on never thinking about the shit they’d faced again. Dustin tried not to remember last week, when again he had been riding in a car going just a little too fast, next to Steve Harrington.

   “Hey, buddy,” he had said. It had still felt a little weird to call Steve Harrington–King Steve Harrington–”buddy.” But, then again, it had also been a little weird to ride in King Steve Harrington’s car while King Steve Harrington drove them to the Byers’ house at four in the morning, trying not to get them all killed because King Steve Harrington had gotten his entire skull bashed in trying to protect them. They’d had to stop the car a few blocks away from the house and walk after Steve had almost run them into a tree. By the time they’d arrived, everyone else already had. The kids had pushed Steve over to Hopper, who had taken one look before deciding they were going to the hospital. Later, Steve had claimed to have no recollection of such a visit.

   “--out, or am I stuck with you all day?”

   “Huh?” Dustin tore his eyes from the window and realized the car was stopped. Steve was looking at him oddly.

   “Yeah,” he said, climbing out. “Yeah, totally. Uh, thanks for the ride.”

   “Whatever, dude.” Dustin pretended not to notice Steve’s eyes following him. “Have fun at school!”

   He stuck his tongue out at the rearview mirror.

 

-.III.-

(-.II.-)

 

   Steve probably would have slept through his classes again if trauma didn’t prevent him from sleeping at all. Unfortunately, no such thing kept him from dissociating, doodling instead of taking notes, and overall being a bad student. As it turned out, Mrs. Brenner taught _social studies,_ and the test was on all sorts of lovely things he knew nothing about. He handed it back empty.

   It was Friday, meaning the closest thing he was about to get to human interaction in the next two days was with his right hand and the bottle next to his bed. At least he could drive the kids to school during the week, which somewhat resembled socialization. Over the weekend, he had no excuse, no friends his own age, and no plans. Of course, Dustin’s invitation to dinner that night remained, but he wasn’t quite that desperate.

   Or, at least, he wasn’t about to show it if he were.

   Steve looked around and saw nothing but solitude. A spotless countertop, a dusty dining table, and years-old picture frames full of lies were all the house had to offer. He picked up a framed picture; probably the last one his parents had bothered to take. Steve looked to be about seven years old, with his mother and her flashy smile on the left, his father and his spotless suit on the right. They were standing as far from each other as they could, and he couldn’t help but wonder how in hell they hadn’t managed to file a divorce yet. He guessed it would be bad for their image.

   Steve put the picture down.

   Sometimes, when he was a kid, he’d get this intense feeling of “ _I want to go home.”_ More often than not he’d go to his mother, or his nanny, or whoever was around at the time to whine to. He remembered the look his mother gave him when he’d pulled her aside to tell her he wanted to go home--after they had been sitting in the lounge of their own house. She’d sent him to his room and he’d cried without really knowing why.

   He realized he was standing in the middle of the room, clenching and unclenching his fists like a fucking idiot.

 _This kid must think I’m pathetic,_ he thought. His fists clenched.

 _He looks up to me,_ he thought. His fingers unraveled.

_Fuck it._

 

* * *

 

 

  Steve knocked on the front door, a tray of brownies tucked under one arm and stupid butterflies fluttering around in his chest. The street was cold and pitch black, the only movement in sight coming from his own visible puffs of breath. Mrs. Henderson, however, seemed to have every light on, the whole house buzzing with warmth. He heard someone trip over something, moving closer. He waited.

   A suspicious voice from inside asked, “who is it?” As if it could have been anyone else.

   “It’s me,” Steve said anyway, “a shambling mockery of a human being, freezing my ass off out here. I--”

   A warm embrace threw itself around him before he could say “hello.”

   “Get in here, asshole.” Dustin dragged him inside by his sleeve.

   As it turned out, Claudia Henderson knew plenty about Steve, despite never having met him before. He didn’t mind her acting like she’d already signed his adoption papers; he was flattered that Dustin talked about him so much. It was little gestures, like a hand on his shoulder, an extra scoop of sauce on his plate, and an enthusiastic invitation to pet the cat that had him feeling more at home than he had in a long time.

   Upon revealing he had brought dessert, Claudia actually turned around and hugged him. She smelled like vanilla. He didn’t really want to let go.

   Steve ended up staying until it was late, and they were all full and warm and happy. As much as he hated pushing Tews off his lap, it was almost midnight, and his hosts looked like they were falling asleep on the couch. Claudia offered to let him spend the night, but he politely declined. He left them with the remaining brownies, pretending not to notice so he could come back again to pick the dish up. 

   The Harrington house felt a little less cold that night.

   Not that he'd ever admit it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway, this is garbage. Hey, check out [my Tumblr](https://glitterymayoarts.tumblr.com)


End file.
